


Moments

by AlwaysKatie7



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: various character and pairings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7353094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysKatie7/pseuds/AlwaysKatie7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of snapshots from across the span of J.K. Rowling's timeline: Marauders, to within the series, to beyond! Chapter Three: Harry's birthdays have changed significantly over the years...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! The idea behind "Moments" is just that it's going to be miscellaneous snapshots from across J.K. Rowling's timeline. This means that it could be something from the Marauders era, to within the course of the series, to next generation, and everything in between! So basically just a series of one shots that I was inspired to write but didn't want to post as stand alones. I will (in accordance to my own preference) keep everything roughly canon compliant, and canon pairings as always! Also, the story is tagged with Ron, Hermione, and Harry because those are the characters that I personally enjoy writing about most, and as such will probably appear in a lot of these...but expect many more characters, they're all fair game here.
> 
> If you have anything in particular that you would like to see, feel free to leave suggestions in the comments, or over on my tumblr (andfrecklesandyoursmile). Happy reading!

"Don't eat all of that at once!" Hermione shouted after the kids as they tore through the kitchen into the sitting room, laden with bags of treats. They had just returned from Sunday brunch at The Burrow, only this week Charlie had been home as well, and had brought all of his nieces and nephews an overflowing bag of sweets each. Ron toppled out of the floo behind her, shaking his head with laughter as they watched little Lily bend down to pick up a fallen sugar quill, only to spill the rest of the contents out of her bag as well. The Potter kids had been left with them for the day, since Ginny was reporting a match across the country that afternoon, and Harry had decided to go meet her. 

  
"Do you think Harry contacts Charlie ahead of time to conveniently plan _just_ which matches he should want to 'surprise Ginny' at?" said Hermione, turning to her husband.

  
"Wouldn't put it past him...git," Ron muttered, bending down to retrieve a flyaway acid pop from beneath the counter.

  
"You better go give that to Lily," Hermione warned, "or she'll think she got one less than everyone else again. You know they're counting in there."

  
Sure enough, when they rounded the corner into the sitting room, all five children were sat cross legged on the carpet, their individual stashes dumped out before them, sorting and counting out the contents of their bags. Ron dropped the pop into Lily's pile just as she exchanged one of her fudge flies for Hugo's peppermint toad.

  
"Yes!" Rose exclaimed excitedly, yanking a wrapper from the bottom of her pile as if it were a gold coin rather than a piece of candy, "A chocolate frog!"

  
Immediately, the others began rifling through their own treats for theirs. The chocolate frog was the glimmering apex of Honeydukes' sweets, not only because it was excellent chocolate, but also because of the surprise inside. As soon as James had begun his own card collection a few years back, the others had latched on as well, and now all of them together were well on their way to collecting the full set. Each chocolate frog was like a prize.

  
James found his almost immediately, and without waiting for the others, tore the wrapper off, the contained card fluttering down onto the rest of his stash. "Just another Dumbledore," he groaned disappointedly, barely glancing at it before tossing it aside into the center of the little circle they'd formed, and taking a bite of his chocolate. Rose was close behind, ripping open her own frog and grabbing the card out neatly from within. She made a face and tossed her card on top of James’.

  
"I got Uncle Harry _again_. We must have about _fifty_ of those...."

  
"This one's Dad too," Albus groaned, adding it to the stack.

  
Hugo's face lit up as he opened his, "I got a new one!" Everyone's head popped up. "Oswald Beamish!" The grins turned to snorts.

  
"We already have him, Hue,” said James gently, reaching over to clap him on the back regardless.

  
"No we don't!"

  
" _Yes_ we do," Rose shot back, "I found him three months ago."

  
"Oh," Hugo murmured defeatedly, adding it to the stack.

  
All four of them turned to Lily expectantly, the last to open her frog. She was staring at the card bemusedly. "I-I got _you_ , Uncle Ron!" She piped up, her voice raising in excitement.

  
"No way!" James yelped, grabbing it out of her hand and pulling it away before she could snatch it back, "This is just what we needed! Way to go, Lily!"

  
Rose was examining it over James' shoulder, "I never thought we'd _actually_ find it. I was beginning to think Dad had just forged the one he has framed in his office...."

  
Hermione cringed, staring at the pile of forgotten cards in the center of the children. Harry's card was as frequent as Dumbledore's nowadays, both now lying discarded together. All over the world, wizarding children were opening up their chocolate frogs to a card about Harry Potter. Meanwhile, Ron's was so under-printed that his own daughter was beginning to question its very existence. This would crush him. He had always considered making it onto a chocolate frog card his crowning achievement. She had rarely seen him happier than when he'd received his card in the post, along with a handwritten note from the head of the company. And now to find out that hardly anyone got to enjoy it…. Forcing herself to crack open her eyes, bracing herself for his devastation, she turned to him. He wasn't there. He had bounded over to where the kids had gathered round, peering down at his card in James' hand and looking...well, nothing short of _elated_.

  
"Can you _believe_ it, Hermione?" He said gleefully, looking up to meet her dumbfounded expression, "I'm a rare card! _Me!_ "

  
She shook her head. Looking at him, she thought she even detected a tear grazing the corner of his eye. He would never fail to amaze her.

  
“Lemme see it!” Hugo was demanding, struggling to peer around James’ outstretched arm. His cousin passed it over, albeit reluctantly.

  
“Make sure you don’t bend it! It’ll lose it’s value and it’ll take us ages to find another….” James yammered on. Hugo just rolled his eyes.

  
Ron had reappeared at her side, beaming. “So this is a good thing, then? You’re not disappointed?” Hermione asked. She was so taken aback that she needed the confirmation.

  
“ _Disappointed?_   Hermione, Albus said they’d been looking for mine for ages! _Ages!_ I never thought I’d see the day…. Oh I can’t _wait_ to let Harry know that his own son threw him aside without so much as a second glance. That’s what he gets for disappearing on a candy day…hah!”

  
Hermione had to smile a little at the look of pure euphoria on her husband’s face. “I’m sure he’ll be simply devastated, dear….”


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally written for Ron/Hermione ship week over on Tumblr. 
> 
> Warnings: Pregnancy, discussion of potential complications during pregnancy

"You bought me something?" Hermione asked, trying not to act as surprised as she felt. It wasn't that he never spontaneously gifted her anything…it just usually wasn't presented to her in a black plastic bag with two bright "C's", plastered on the front—the trademark wrappings of the Chudley Cannons' team gift shop. Oh dear, she hoped he hadn't misunderstood her love for the baggy Cannons shirt she wore to bed. She adored it because it was _his_ , not because of any real team spirit! What if he had decided he wanted it back and had gotten her her own to replace it? It wouldn't be nearly the same. In fact, she'd probably never wear it, and then he'd only be disappointed….

"Well…erm, not _exactly_ ," said Ron, looking immensely pleased with himself at his purchase, "It's for the baby."

Oh god, it was even worse! _The baby!_ She had sent him off to the game with Harry hoping it would be a bit of a _distraction_ from the baby, and now here he was with a gift for it! Oh no, _Harry_ — "He doesn't know does he?" She asked, trying to hold back her panic. Thankfully, he shook his head.

"Of course not, I wouldn't tell him without you! I picked it out when he went off to find the loo."

_Thank god._ They themselves had only found out a bit over two weeks ago. She had been spending the day with Ginny, who had convinced her to take a bit of the potion. As soon as it had changed to purple, she had felt a lump rising in her throat. Frantically she had washed the potion down the sink. Then she had told Ginny it had stayed blue. Not pregnant. Except she was. Ron had been _thrilled_ , of course. She had known he would be, they had been trying for a while. The day after she told him, he got off work early and prepared an entire supper to be ready by the time she got home—her favorite, lasagna, with the bread from the market that she loved but usually bypassed because it was overpriced. They had had a little celebration, just the two of them. It had been marvelous, so long as she managed to forget the reason they were celebrating.

He had taken her to her Mungo's appointment, and held her hand as the healer confirmed what they already knew. After that, there had been so much talk about the baby that it made her head spin. Pregnancy books that she had bought when they had first started trying were suddenly pulled off the shelves, dusted off, and lying around their bedroom. Together, they'd marked the due date on their calendar by the fridge. A few days ago, when she'd woken up ill for the first time, Ron had missed his morning meeting to hold back her hair and rub her back in small circles as she knelt over the toilet. Those were big changes, and she did all right with them. When they'd babysat little James and Ron turned his nose up in disgust as they'd changed his diaper, she'd even made a joke that he'd better get used to it. She thought she was finally getting comfortable with the idea. But it was the small things, the ones that took her off guard, that clearly proved that theory wrong. Sometimes, something would remind her out of the blue, like the day Ron stormed home from work complaining about a coworker, and told her furiously that if their child was a boy they could never name him "David," or when she reached in the cabinet for a bottle of wine and had to stop herself, her hand dangling in the air for moments afterwards. Or now, when Ron appeared home from a quidditch game with a gift for a baby she liked to pretend she wasn't pregnant with….

"Well are you going to open it?" Ron said eagerly, staring down at her in expectation and looking practically giddy with excitement. Rather reluctantly, she took the bag from his hands and peered inside.

It was a jumper. A little baby jumper. And it was ghastly. The entire front was covered in an enlarged Chudley Cannons logo, and all the parts that weren't thus occupied were still a violent shade of the team's trademark orange. She had of course imagined what her and Ron's babies would look like, and she now mentally dressed them in the tiny sweater. With a head of a red hair and that jumper, they'd look completely ridiculous. Hell, even with her brown hair, they'd look completely ridiculous. She wasn't sure there were any possible features that wouldn't clash horribly with the rather shocking jumper. Yet the baby she pictured in her mind was snuggled up tightly in it regardless, her little hands peeking out from the folds of the fabric, and her tiny face scrunched up in the cutest little laugh she'd ever seen…. _Her and Ron's baby._ She wanted their child to have that jumper.

Ron was yammering away in the background, saying something about how he knew it was early but he couldn't resist. She stared at the garment in her hand, so wonderful in it's ugliness, and promptly burst into tears.

Ron's smile melted at once. "Hey, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't think it was _that_ bad, I can take it back…."

She shook her head, clutching it tighter and letting the sobs rack over her. She had to pull herself together, she didn't want Ron to worry. "I-I'm sorry," she managed to choke out, "Must just be p-pregnancy h-h-hormones…"

Ron's eyes had narrowed and she knew he didn't believe her. "I'll go get some water," he said quietly, shooting her one last concerned glance before disappearing. When he returned a few moments later with two glasses, she was still crying. Despite her best efforts, she didn't seem to be able to get the tears to stop. "Budge over," he whispered, climbing onto the bed beside her and pushing aside the forgotten book she'd been reading when he'd first arrived. She allowed him to scoot closer and pull her into his arms so that she could cry onto his shoulder, the way she had grown accustomed to. "So what's happened?" he said sincerely, stroking her hair and drawing her in.

Melting into his touch, she couldn't stop the words from escaping her mouth, her greatest fear, "It's only been a month, something could still go wrong." It came out so softly that she wasn't sure he had even heard her. There was a long pause. Then—

"This is about what they told you at Mungo's isn't it?"

He wasn't talking about this last time, when they had told her she was pregnant. She knew that much by his voice. And he was right. It was a trip from years ago, actually. A trip from right after the war. She had felt fine, and was sure that Fleur had patched her up well enough, but after about eight different people had insisted upon it, she had finally agreed to a check-up at Mungo's, to identity any residual effects of the Cruciatus. She hadn't expected anything, she'd been feeling fine, after all. As soon as the healer had started speaking in a voice that was sickeningly gentle, and far too kind, she had known it wouldn't be good. But it was worse than bad. Worse than awful, even. They had told her she might never have children. They had told her that, even if she did get pregnant, the chances were enormously large for a high-risk pregnancy and birth.

It had taken ages for Ron to get it out of her. She had cried for nearly two days straight on the floor of Ginny's room at the Burrow. It was early on in their relationship. It was before they'd gone to Australia to get her parents. It was before they'd even said "I love you." But she had known her future was with Ron. She had known that much for years, or at least hoped it, and in the recent days she'd grown certain it. But she was afraid of how he'd react. A small part of her had even feared he'd end it between them. He hadn't, of course. He'd held her then like he was holding her now. And he'd let her cry. And then he had told her he loved her. No matter what, he had said.

So eventually they got married, and so did Harry and Ginny, and then James was born, and James was so _lovely_ , and so when Ron brought it up, late one night in those weeks after James, she'd said _of course_ she would love to have a baby. She was ready. Which was all true. But she hadn't thought it through, had she? Because here she was, pregnant, and desperate to have a family with the man she loved more than anything, and more than half-terrified that it would all fall to bits in the blink of an eye. _A great chance of high risk pregnancies._ The healer's words had been swimming out of her past and whirling around in her mind since she'd seen the purple potion. She had set herself up for more devastation, she was almost sure of it. It was only a matter of time.

Ron was still stroking her hair, and she was still crying. It was nice, in a way, because at least it was all out in the open. She had been rather sick of pretending to be thrilled. She wasn't thrilled. She was scared. "Nothing's going to go wrong," Ron said, with a lot more confidence than she would have been able to muster. "I think we've been through enough shit…I reckon there's a limit!" She sniffed. Then he was cupping her chin and raising her face gently to look into his. Even his eyes, she noticed, were a little watery, but he was hiding it well. "Hermione," he said very seriously, "Even if something were to happen, which it's _not_ , but if even if _were_ , we'd get through it. Just like we've gotten through everything else. You know that right?"

She couldn't quite work out a proper response, so she just hugged him tighter and hoped he understood. She did know. Suddenly, she became aware of the fact that she was still clutching unto the little Cannons jumper with one hand. Sniffling, she pulled away and faced him, wiping the tears out of her eyes. "I love the gift," she said, a bit shakily. "She's going to look great in it."

Ron's eyes went wide as saucers. "She? How do you know?"

"I just think so," Hermione whispered, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. The little baby girl she'd imagined wearing the jumper earlier made its way back into her mind. Only this time, she smiled at the thought. "I have a feeling."

Late into the night they sat there, her head resting on his shoulder long after her tears had dried, hands intertwined. Just the two of them, and their unborn little baby Weasley. Three. A perfect family. No matter what.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I originally wrote this drabble for Harry's (and Jo's) birthday, having just re-read the Mirror of Erised chapter, baffled at how bloody depressing the implication is that Harry doesn't know what his parents look like. This idea sprung from that.

He doesn't realize he is ten until it is well past noon. Aunt Petunia has the afternoon news on in the kitchen, and the date flashes across the top of the television screen: 31st July. He returns to the sandwich he is fixing himself without a second thought. He has long since ceased paying attention to his birthdays.

It is a bit later, as he is sitting in his cupboard, that he wraps it around his mind. _Ten_. Double digits. He wishes it felt at least a _little_ different, being ten, but he can't say he feels any change from yesterday, when he was only nine. He wonders if it had felt differently for Dudley, if having a real birthday was what made the difference. Did the event-ness of it all, the presents and the cake and the party, solidify something inside you? Make it seem real?

He himself had never had a cake. Once, when he was much younger, he had proclaimed to Aunt Petunia a week before his birthday that he would like a yellow cake with chocolate frosting, please. Dudley had gotten to choose _his_ cake, and Harry had very much been looking forward to his own turn ever since. But Aunt Petunia had narrowed her eyes at him and told him icily that she would not allow so much dessert in such a short span of time. She seemed to ignore the fact that she had been conceding to Dudley's near-daily demands for ice creams all week. But Harry got the message all the same: he wouldn't be getting a cake. Since then, he had settled for enjoying the sliver of cake his Aunt usually cut for him on Dudley's birthday as if it were his own. It wasn't quite the same, but it would have to do.

He had never had a party either, but that didn't bother him so much. It wasn't as if he had anyone to invite. Dudley and his gang had prevented him from making any friends at school, and he considered it a blessing in disguise that the other members of the family, most notably Aunt Marge, cared so little for him that he never received so much as a card, let alone a visit, from any of them on his birthday.

He did get presents, sometimes—if the Dursley's managed not to forget about the significance of the day altogether—but they were never really anything to look forward to. While Dudley got things like bicycles and video games, he got a 50-pence piece Uncle Vernon dug out of his back pocket at supper, or a packet of paperclips his Aunt had bought for 50% off. There was never more than one per year, and none of them were much different than if he hadn't gotten anything at all. In fact, the best birthday he could remember was two years back, when the date was brought up by Dudley at breakfast. Uncle Vernon hadn't had any change on him to toss over, but Aunt Petunia had instead allowed him to eat the last couple strips of bacon rather than Dudley. The look on his cousin's face alone was better than any gift he'd ever recieved.

Somehow, he doesn't expect today to be any better. He stopped hoping that something would change years ago. His birthday has quickly become a non-event, just another day. He supposes it must have been different, before, when his parents were still alive. _One_. It had to have been his best birthday ever, that very first one, the only one he got to share with them. He likes to think that his mum made a cake, and his dad helped him blow out the lone candle. And there were presents, too. More toys than he had ever gotten in his entire time with the Dursleys. Maybe there was even a party, he doesn't know. One lousy birthday with his parents and he can't even remember it. But he imagines it the best he can. It's all he's got.

He wishes he knew more about them. They are a taboo subject in the Dursley house, his parents. The one time he brought it up with his Aunt, she snapped at him not to ask questions. He doesn't even know what they looked like. There are no photographs of them in the house, not even in the photo albums by the fireplace, which he managed to sneek a look at once. It's as if they never existed. His mum is his Aunt's sister, so he imagines they'd look at least a bit alike, though. His Aunt Petunia was the sort of woman who might have been very pretty, once, but who had aged too quickly, probably from scowling so much that the wrinkles multiplied rapidly upon her bony face until all signs of youthfulness were gone. His mother, on the other hand, had a gentler face, and a wide smile, or so he imagines. He knows her eyes were green, just like his, instead of the unforgiving deep brown of Aunt Petunia's. And he looks just like his father, otherwise. This he knows thanks to none other than Aunt Marge, who, unlike his aunt and uncle, _loved_ discussing Harry's parents, for the specific purpose of criticizing them. As much as her comments infuriated him, he was also, in a bizarre sort of way, grateful for them. Her snide remarks provided him with he only information he had on Lily and James Potter. Plus, the fact that Aunt Marge clearly despised the both of him filled him with a sort of pride for his parents. The types of people whom his relatives turned their noses up at were more often than not precisely the types of people worth getting to know.

He thinks about them, imagining them and that one birthday they shared, until Aunt Petunia calls him in for dinner. There is a present waiting for him at his place at the table. He is shocked to see it's even wrapped, or rather, stuck in a gift bag. They've really gone all out this year. His Uncle doesn't even glance up from his conversation with Dudley as he takes his seat, so he knows things haven't completely turned upside down. He's barely gotten his bottom in the chair before Aunt Petunia barks at him to "open it already so I have someplace to put down the pies." He snatches it off the table and reaches inside. It is a jumper, four sizes too big for him. An old one of Dudley's that his cousin must have outgrown. It is a rather horrible yellow, with brown edging. He tries, and surely fails, at looking pleased, but he mutters out his thanks just the same, so they can't accuse him of being ungrateful. No one says anything, but Aunt Petunia brings over the pies, and he eats his quietly as she drawls on about the neighbors, silently wondering what his birthday would have been like if it weren't for the car crash that landed him here in the first place.

Who knows, maybe next year will be better.

He doubts it, but maybe.

* * *

 

They are still up when the clock above the mantel strikes twelve. Ginny clinks her glass against his, grinning up at him. "Thirty-five. You're getting old, Harry."

"Yeah, I think I did feel a gray hair sprout up at the stroke of midnight," he jokes, taking a sip from his glass. Truthfully, he welcomes the thought of growing old. Who would have thought he'd live to see even thirty-five? Yes, growing old sounds lovely, in his opinion.

Ginny chuckles. "We should get to bed soon," she says drowsily, "You've got your party later."

He nods, setting down his now empty champagne flute next to hers. A party, at the burrow, for him, with a cake baked specially by Molly, and a small pile of cards and presents, despite him insisting that no one need worry about bringing gifts. Though it is a cliche, the best part of it all will be the family coming together. He wonders what his childhood self would think, if he had been able to see the life he would have in the future. If he had known, back then, that one day he would have a tangible family, rather than just an imagined one. It is a rather nice feeling, to be loved.

"Happy birthday," Ginny whispers to him, leaning in for a kiss.

A happy birthday, indeed.


End file.
